


odd behavior

by taemeen



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Bottom Louis, Explicit Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Cheating, Love/Hate, M/M, Unecessary Banter, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-28
Updated: 2014-06-28
Packaged: 2018-06-01 19:52:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6534181
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/taemeen/pseuds/taemeen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry cheats, but not on Louis.</p>
            </blockquote>





	odd behavior

**Author's Note:**

> **all about your heart by mindy gledhill.**

Louis knows it's a bad idea, being with Harry. Not because he's a liar, although he is, or because he's just slept with someone else a few minutes ago, also true. But rather because they're best friends, and best friends don't finger fuck their best friends. Especially when said best friend isn't _his_ to begin with.

Louis is terrible. He'll admit it. Probably not when Harry has three fingers up his ass, though.

"Fuck," Louis tosses his head back as his body juts forward unceremoniously, thighs twitching in a way he thinks might be unnatural. "Fuck, fuck, _fuck_ , do it again."

Harry does do it again. Louis likes to think it's because he knows better than to deprive him of things he wants, and not because he's a smug bastard who gets off to getting Louis all flustered and bothered.

That's exactly what he is. A good for nothing, cheating bastard. Not that Louis has room to talk.

"Shut up," Harry hisses. He gives a particularly hard nudge to Louis' prostate, which beats the purpose of trying to silence him. "Do you want me to stop?"

Of course not. Louis would be perfectly fine with dying just like this, three fingers shoved inside of him, a carton of mostly melted ice cream to his left and a few joints to his right. He's living it up, and it's a shame Harry would ever suggest something so drastic like _stopping_.

Louis shakes his head, which satisfies Harry to the point he can pick up the pace of his fingers without another word, his thumb pressed against the center of Louis' balls. If he wanted him quiet before, he most certainly isn't getting that now.

Harry is persistent with his fingers, tilting them until the angle is just right, causing Louis to toss his head back with a long, drawn out moan. He squirms and scrapes his nails against the sensitive skin of Harry's wrists out of spite. If he's lucky, he'll bleed out and leave Louis to use his cock as he pleases.

Which, really, is what Louis came here for in the first place.

"I want your cock," Louis announces, allowing his head to loll comfortably onto Harry's shoulder. He keeps his legs spread just enough for Harry to keep a consistent pace without having to adjust himself, his toes curling into the wrinkled sheets. They're dull and stiff in certain areas—he can't remember the last time he saw Harry wash them. The thought of just how unclean he actually was is almost enough to soften Louis completely, but Harry adds just the right amount of pressure to Louis' balls and, soon enough, he's putty.

Complete and utter putty.

He feels the curve of Harry's lips against his neck as he watches himself make an even bigger mess of the sheets, his lips parting as he rides his orgasm all the way through. His fingers tighten around Harry's wrists, purposely adding more pressure to the raised marks he created.

"Fuck you," Harry grunts. He shoves Louis off of his lap and directly into the mess he produced, causing Louis to scowl and claw at his arms. He misses and attempts it again, failing once more.

God, he hates Harry.

He hates him even more as he grabs ahold of his thighs, being folded in half with his knees pressed to his chest. Harry has a bad habit of treating him like a _rag doll,_ as if bending this way is completely natural for a man who has trouble reaching for the remote. When he attempts to move, Harry swats his thigh a few times to stop him from moving, which proves to be successful as Louis' hips fall fatal at the mattress. His hatred for his so-called best friend is skyrocketing at this point.

Absolutely skyrocketing.

"What are you doing?" Louis begins to squirm again, just like the squirmy thing he is, his toes curling inward as he feels the tip of Harry's cock pushing against his entrance. He's still got lube dripping down his thighs, so he's quite thankful Harry didn't think to add more.

"Fucking you," Harry mumbles, eyes clouding over as he slips the tip in and out the tight space Louis' cheeks create. It creates an unnecessarily arousing squelching sound. "What, did you change your mind?"

Louis whimpers quietly and attempts to spread his legs, which only earns him another swat, this time on the behind. He shakes his head quickly in response and arches his back; his mind hasn't changed at all. It never does. Harry should know that by now.

But there's a good chance he does. It's just—Harry, despite him being an utter _asshole,_ respects Louis enough to ask him _every moment_ if he's okay, if he still wants it, if he wants him to stop. Consent. Louis wishes it didn't make his stomach flutter as much as it did.

He doesn't think about it too much as Harry begins thrusting, attacking the feeling head on with the tip of his cock. His large hands grip his waist as he pulls his hips back against it, grinding into him.

The temperature rises a few degrees as the atmosphere alternates.

"You're such a good fuck, aren't you?" Harry growls, finally allowing Louis to wrap his legs around his waist. It was getting uncomfortable, being bent in a way he only deems necessary for gymnasts—which, by the way, Louis isn't.

Louis trembles pathetically, Harry's cock stirring a feeling in the pit of his stomach that only his cock can create. He wishes—he wishes he could detach it from his body, use it as a toy. After all, it _is_ the only thing he can stand about the man.

"Answer me," His hand meets one of Louis' already reddened cheeks, coming down with a loud _smack_ that causes Louis to let out a shout. He can't tell if it's from pleasure or pain; it might actually be _both_ at this point.

"I'm a good fuck," Louis slurs in response, his fingers curling around a few strands of Harry's hair. "A really, _really_ good fuck."

Harry retaliates with even harder thrusts, ones that cause Louis' toes to cramp from how much they're curled. He's _weird,_ Louis thinks to himself, being turned on by having his hair touched.

It's not—it's not necessarily a _bad_ thing. He'd never admit it to anyone, how much he likes it when Harry gets like this, how much he craves the heavy palms pinning him to the mattress as he works his cock in and out of him, claiming him in the way he'd only allow Harry to—like he was his.

And he was.

Just. Just not _only_ his.

* * *

 

Harry Styles is a _pest._

Louis acknowledged Harry's resemblance to a literal _bug_ the first day he actually met him, when the boys thought it was okay to introduce him to a woolly-mammoth-bug hybrid who followed him everywhere he went—even to the laundromat and, at one point, the bathroom.

But this. This was too much even for him.

Here's the thing: Harry has a boyfriend. It's—it's also not _new._ He's had one for, what, three years? Louis would think that would be enough time for a person to understand that you don't _touch_ other people inappropriately when they're less than ten feet away. It's not even because he's stupid anymore, although he is, but rather because, as Louis mentioned before, he is a _pest._

The boys split up upon arrival, scuttling off to their desired destinations. Liam follows some older, possibly married, woman to the center of the dance floor while Zayn takes the stage--solo stuff and all that. Timothy, who, by the way, happens to be Harry's boyfriend, takes it upon himself to actually leave Harry with _him_ while he goes off and does...well, whatever Timothy does. Admittedly, Louis doesn't know much about him, despite knowing him for all of the three years Harry has been with him.

But as soon as Timothy is out of view, Harry decides the perfect thing to do is to wrap an arm around him, placing one of his paw-like hands on the skin exposed by his shirt. Louis wants to tell him he doesn't have to claim him any longer, because he already has. He settles for twisting his nipple.

"How is the wine?" Harry drawls out in question, hardly effected by Louis' _astounding_ purple-nurple. His thumb brushes across the slither of skin as he downs his own drink, which is probably something unnecessarily expensive, knowing Harry.

"It's beer," Louis' eyes flutter shut involuntarily, crossing a leg over the other. He hates to admit it, but he's already _hard_ and Harry has hardly done anything. "And it tastes like piss, thanks for asking."

Harry tosses his head back and cackles. He laughs like a fucking _ostrich_.

"Shut up," Louis shoves him, mostly to get his arm onto his _own_ side of the table. If he had added any more force, he would've ended up on the floor. It doesn't sound like all that bad of an idea, apart from the fact that he would probably drag Louis down with him. Timothy would have his head, either way.

Or Harry's, for touching him in the first place.

It doesn't work. Harry's arm is still secured around him, this time settling around his waist. It's oddly intimate, as if they weren't just best friends and maybe something _more than that._ Louis doesn't know how to feel about it.

"Do you want some of mine?" Harry tilts his cup in offering. His drink _does_ look appetizing—it's pink, with a lemon tacked onto side. Louis could probably stomach it better than his piss in a bottle of a beverage.

Louis reaches for the cup, but retracts his hand as Harry jerks the cup back. "I'll hold it," he says, as if it justifies him startling Louis. He raises his brows when Louis scoffs. "It's so you won't drink it all, you menace."

Louis sits still as Harry brings the cup up to his lips. He finds himself wrapping a hand around Harry's own as his lips meet the edge of the cup, guiding him as he tilts the cup. Louis parts his lips and allows the fruity liquid to invade his mouth, unable to stop the pleased moan that escapes his lips.

Harry retrieves the cup before Louis can thoroughly enjoy it. There's a smirk on his lips—the kind of smirk he only gives Louis when he _wants_ him.

And, honestly, that's all the time. Louis likes to think so, anyway.

Louis doesn't know how long it takes for them to come to a mutual agreement about whether or not they should fuck tonight. All he _does_ know is that it takes less time for Harry to get him undressed and bent over the sink than it did to find a suitable place to do so.

"You have to be quiet, yeah?" Harry leaves a trail of nipping kisses down the side of his neck as his fingers trace the rim of his hole, which Louis says is still opened from a couple of nights back. Harry says he's lying.

"Whatever," Louis grinds against the sink, the cold porcelain causing his cock to twitch a few times, his fingers grasping the sides. "Where's the lube?"

Harry freezes. "I thought you had it."

The _idiot._

"You throw a fit when I bring it," Louis scowls, turning around to face Harry. His cock doesn't falter, surprisingly, but hardens. It's a sad, sad hard.

"It makes me itch," Harry claims, crossing his arms over his chest. Not only doesn't make him itch, but it also causes a mean _rash_ on his cock that's pretty similar to, like, actual STDs.

But Harry's itchy cock is the least of his worries; he isn't getting fucked, and _that's_ disappointing.

"What, then? Are we gonna suck each other off and call it a night?"

That. That makes Louis' cock soften.

Harry places his hands on Louis' hips and brings him closer as he makes a move to unlock the door; it's all for show, considering he was still _naked._

"That's too obvious," Harry mumbled. He nuzzles his nose into the crook of Louis' neck, forcing him to sway from side to side. "Your lips get all swollen. Tom will ask."

"Timothy?" Louis raises his brows, placing both of his smaller hands on top of Harry's. He wants to laugh, but it's really not all that funny.

"You know what I mean," he grunts in response. His lips are working at his skin now, leaving marks only on the parts of him that won't be visible when he redresses. "Bend over."

Louis doesn't. He turns to face Harry again and places a hand firm against his chest, pushing him back gently. "How could you forget your boyfriend's name?"

Harry isn't amused—in fact, if Louis didn't know him any better, he'd think he was proper _pissed._ But he isn't. He just doesn't want to talk about it—and, well. That's okay, but it's _not._

"I'm serious," And he is. It's just hard to sound it when Harry is already kissing at his lips, which he knows is a failed attempt to get him to drop the subject. "Harry, fuck. Stop."

Harry pulls away with a growl. This time, Louis thinks he might actually be angry with him. "It was a _mistake,_ Louis. It won't happen again, for fucks sake."

"But," Louis wanted to pull his hair out. He didn't know how to say what he wanted to, how to get his point across without sounding desperate. "What if it does? What if—imagine if you said _my_ name."

Harry smirks. "It's happened before."

God, Louis wishes that didn't make his cock twitch as much as it did.

The next time Harry kisses Louis, he lets him. He can't lie and say he doesn't want to talk about it more, but—but they don't have much time before someone starts wondering where they went, and Louis doesn't want to have to present himself with a hard-on. He's Harry's to use for now.

Harry kisses like a teething piranha, with too much teeth and too little _kissing._ It's still hot, oddly enough, even when Louis has to tell the boys he's got a cold sore when Harry bites him too hard.

Louis wraps his arms around Harry's neck, allowing him to hoist him up onto the sink. It's hard to balance himself on the edge but luckily Harry takes notice, ditching the entire show-off thing to push his chest against the wall instead.

For a moment, Louis thinks that Harry might actually try to fuck him without lube—which is unlikely, considering Louis _does_ know how to defend himself. But those thoughts are ultimately pushed aside as Harry spreads him apart—legs, and cheeks.

It's suddenly too hot to do anything _but_ gasp as Harry's tongue meets his neglected hole, working at the rim with such sloppy precision. Louis presses his hands to the wall, the utter filth of it all completely slipping his mind as Harry grabs onto his thighs and tugs him back against his mouth.

_Jesus._

Harry twists his tongue until it's buried inside of him, his grip never faltering. His tongue flicks against his inner walls in a way that he _knows_ took at least a month of practice on someone who wasn't him, causing his knees to buckle.

"Ah—f–fuck," Louis can't bite back the moan that escapes his parted lips. His nails scrape against the walls, leaving marks that expose the color the wall was meant to be. "No, no, fuck me."

Harry laughs into his backside. His words are muffled, and it's a bit hard to understand him while his tongue is restrained, but Louis makes out his words nonetheless. It sounds something like _I just started._

Louis kicks him.

When Louis turns around, Harry is laying with his back to the floor, limbs sprawled out around his already lanky frame. He looks ridiculous, and Louis can't help but laugh as he lowers to his knees, fingers working at his belt.

"You're such an idiot," Louis mumbles, eyes meeting Harry's from beneath his lashes. His focus is mostly on getting his impossibly tight jeans off, which he doesn't succeed with until Harry pushes them down himself.

"An idiot that you're going to ride despite not having cheap, itchy lube?" Harry blocks the punch Louis sends to his chest, but misses the second one aimed at his arm instead.

 _"_ Shut up, you buffoon," Louis wraps his lips around Harry's cock only for a moment, releasing it with a pop once he deems it wet enough. He throws a leg over Harry's waist and situates himself above Harry's cock. "Some people can't afford $20 lubricants."

 _"_ Could've borrowed some cash from me, yeah, sugar baby?" The wink Harry sends his way should be returned with a knuckle to his eyelid, but instead Louis finds himself sinking down his cock.

The moan Harry lets out is almost enough for Louis to cancel whatever form of retaliation he had in mind.

Harry's hands grab Louis' waist as he begins to grind his hips in large figure 8s onto his cock, which is meant to help him get used to the less-than-drenched cock shoved up his ass.

"Let go of me," Louis snaps, though he doesn't mean it. Harry doesn't; instead, he uses his hands (and undeniable strength) to coax his figure 8s to small bouncing motions instead. "Stop it, you _dick."_

Harry does let go this time, but only for a moment. Louis, with an upturned nose, guides himself into an angry bouncing pace due to the lack of contact, his hands pressed against Harry's chest to keep him upright.

"Do you need a spanking?" Harry asks. Louis can't tell if he's joking or not.

Regardless, Louis shakes his head. When Harry's hands rest on his hips again, he doesn't protest—he _can't_ protest, too busy whimpering about how much he loves cock. Which—of _course_ he loves cock. Cock is good. Cock is great. Especially Harry's.

Louis is a little more shocked that he didn't stick with getting eaten out instead of risking both of their lives to ride Harry on a bar's bathroom floor than he is that he's riding Harry.

"That's it, baby," Harry's lips are curled into a smirk as he stares up at Louis, trailing a hand from his waist to his side, then to his chest to tug on one of his nipples. He has to steady Louis as his movements become jerker, transitioning from bounces to grinding once Harry attaches his mouth to the little bud.

Louis tosses his head back and let's out an actual _scream,_ which is luckily drowned out by the unnecessarily loud music playing just outside the bathroom door. His hips can't move any faster than they are, which admittedly isn't fast at all.

It frustrates him to the point he's digging his nails int Harry's shoulder blades to ask for help. He doesn't feel the pain, seeing as he has a shirt on (the lucky bastard is fully clothed, his jeans no lower than his knees). But he feels him nonetheless, and flips them over so roughly Louis thinks he might actually _cry._

He does cry, but it's not from his head hitting the ground. It's from Harry's hips, the way they work perfectly into his own, sending his cock deeper and deeper into Louis with each thrust.

His face is blotchy and soaked and he's _hot,_ unable to tell his sweat from his tears at this point. If Harry brought it up, he would say it was from the bathroom heating, not because Harry knew his body better than he knew it himself.

"You gonna cum, Princess?" Harry whispers into his neck, mouthing over the spotless skin. Louis' breath hitches as he angles his hips, hitting his prostate with precision.

He hates it when he calls him princess—which he only does because he _knows_ Louis has a thing for the feminization. He answers anyway, because he _does_ want to cum and he knows Harry won't let him unless he does.

"Yes," Louis arches his back as Harry scrapes against both of his nipples, one with his teeth and the other with his nail, his legs wrapping tight around his waist. "Let me cum, daddy, _please._ "

Harry bites down, and Louis cums without being told to.

All he sees is _white white white_ as he empties himself on his stomach, nails scraping down Harry's toned arms. He's trembling, both from his orgasm and being _cold_ for some odd reason, his lips parting in a silent scream.

Harry's chasing his own high as Louis is coming down from his, his large hands gripping Louis' thighs with bruising force. His balls slap against Louis' raw cheeks roughly, his pace remaining steady up until he's cumming, his hips finally stilling against Louis'.

His lips meet Louis' in an all too gentle kiss, thumbs massaging forgiving hearts into his outer thighs. Their tongues tangle together lazily, Louis' eyes closed from the utter force of his orgasm. He can't think, let alone muster the effort to properly return a kiss.

"I love you, sometimes," Harry mumbles against his lips, teeth tugging at his lower lip as he pulls away. He gathers Louis in his arms and falls back into the crevice between the wall and the door where Louis' clothes remain, redressing him slowly.

Louis is thankful. "Fuck you," he mumbles. He nuzzles his nose into Harry's shirt, voice muffled as he tacks on a, "Get your flaccid dick off of my leg." to the end of his statement.

It's a lot less sinister than, " _I want to spend the rest of my life on this bathroom floor."_


End file.
